Normal
by Sheri Ledding
Summary: Discussion between Harry and Hermione. Femmeslash. One shot.


_Disclaimer: Not mine._

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She heard knocking, but couldn't quite connect it to her hand at the door; her mind was racing too fast.

"Come in."

The door opened. That wasn't her. Harry must have magicked it open from his desk. She walked to the bed and sat down, staring at the back of his head. Yes, she would ask him, and he would explain. That was all there was to it, she had to talk about it.

"What is it Hermione?"

He turned around in his chair and waved his wand at the door, shutting it, and switching the sign outside to read 'Head Boy – Please Do Not Disturb' instead of 'Head Boy – Please Knock.'

Could she really say it? She sat on the bed, leaning slightly toward him, gripping into the sheets and covers. "H-Harry?"

"Yes, 'Mione?"

He was beginning to look worried. She was making too much of this. Just ask him, then it will be over.

"Harry, did you ever…wish you were…normal?" That sounded stupid. It came out all wrong. And his face, he looks like I've slapped him.

"Every day, 'Mione. You know that." He looked a bit more withdrawn, less the open friend he was a moment before, when he thought he would be dealing only with an issue of hers. No, she couldn't be simple and just have her own issues; she had to bring his into play. But it was her issue. She just had to make him understand.

"I know, I mean, that's not what I meant to ask." She stopped. Deep breath, she told herself. Organize, then speak. "I meant to say…well…actually, that was what I meant to say, but not to mean that, so much. Oh, this is terrible."

She lapsed into silence. Miserable silence, caught in a speech trap, completely unable to tell him what she meant. Hermione Granger, of all people, couldn't find the words in her vocabulary to explain how she felt.

Harry must have understood to some extent. He got up and moved to sit beside her on the bed. "Try again, 'Mione. Do I wish I was normal? Yes, I do."

She looked up at him. Her eyes shimmered with appreciation. He was trying so hard for her. She cast about again, looking for the words. They still didn't come.

He tried again. "You know I do. Why are you bringing it up now? Are you having…erm…'normal issues'?"

She promptly began to laugh. He looked so funny, sitting there, with that serious look on his face, asking her if she had 'normal issues.' He joined her; probably glad for the break in tension. She was too, and now she had something to say.

"Now that you put it that way, I suppose I am. If there is a normal to have issues with." Harry sobered enough to listen without trampling the mood. "What is normal, Harry? For you I mean."

"Normal?" He looked a little thrown off by the question for a moment, then he looked her in the eye and answered. She knew he was telling the truth. "Normal is going to school and playing Quidditch and having friends with no Dark Lords to kill and no evil reporters to fend off. Normal is two parents waiting at home, and maybe a couple of siblings to knock around with. Normal is living just like Seamus, Dean, and the Creeveys, just like everyone else."

She could see the glimmer of tears in his eyes as he poured out his dream for her. She wished she could give it to him. She put an arm around his shoulder, trying to communicate her sympathy. He looked at her a little oddly, using a hand to ruffle his hair and surreptitiously wipe away the tears. "But, this isn't about me. Mione, what is it?"

"Harry, I am a terrible person to say it, especially to you, but I want to be normal too." He looked confused. "Don't act like I am. You know as well as I do that I'm not. Have you ever just wanted to act like you were normal and see if maybe people would believe it?"

"You're joking, right? I mean, I've tried that. Sometimes it works for a little while. Then Skeeter or Voldemort come along and mess it all up again. I am doomed to exception I suppose. And it seems you share a similar fate?"

"You know what I mean."

"'Mione, are you referring to your…erm…" he fumbled for words, throwing his hands in convoluted gestures in the verbal absence. She knew what he meant, but she couldn't admit it, so she let him stumble for the actual words, she made him say it. "Your…well, you and Lavender?" One hand made a feeble attempt to finish the sentence, then fell.

She just nodded.

"'Mione, that's not abnormal. How many times do I have to tell you? How many books do you have to read?" She knew he was telling the truth, and she really didn't think it was abnormal. The issue was whether other people thought it was. But she couldn't say that to him, couldn't make him understand. Or could she?

"Harry, do me a favor. Imagine something for me. You're…you." Good start, Herm, you're you, who else would he be? "Now, you like, is it still Cho?" He nodded, a slight flush flitting across his cheeks. "Oh, this isn't the time for embarrassment. You like Cho. And, for our imagination time, Cho likes you back. I don't know how she really feels." She added that when she saw his eyes light up. Honestly, guys always thought girls were alluding to something.

"So, you like Cho and Cho likes you. Unfortunately, that's 'wrong.' 'Wrong' with quotes. That means, everyone else thinks it's wrong. You and Cho shouldn't be together. They think you and…" She cast for a name. "Blaise. You and Blaise should be together."

Good job there. Just cuz she's a hot redhead doesn't mean he thinks as much of her as you do. Then again, that's the point, isn't it?

She carried on. He was looking a little hurt, imagining his forbidden love. "So, the question is, given the opportunity, might you just pick up with Blaise to avoid the ridicule you would have to undergo to be with Cho?"

He looked genuinely torn. Been there, Harry. What do you think, please tell me. Finally, he looked at her. "No, 'Mione. I don't think I would. If I loved Cho and Cho loved me, I think I would stay with her no matter what anyone thought." He looked very sure of his answer for all of his vacillating a moment before. "But what does that have to do…with…you…" He petered out, realizing the parallel.

She nodded. He understood.

"'Mione," he was choosing his words very carefully. "I can't tell you what you should do. I can't make the decisions that have to be yours, and this is one of them, but as your friend, I can give my advice. If you love her, stay. Stay until the world comes crashing down, because love is a very fragile thing, and to lose it is to die a little. If you don't love her, and I'm not going to even guess either way, that is something only you can know, you have a greater choice. It is true, you have the choice of how you live. You will always be…the way you are –"

"Gay, Harry. Just say it. I will always be a lesbian, alright?" She didn't mean to snap, but she hated how he skirted around it.

"Gay, then. You will always be gay, but you can decide to live a straight life. I don't know what it would be like for you. You would have a lot of questions to ask yourself. Could you be with a man? Would it be fair to him to be with you? Might you just live a maid's life? 'Mione," her face was obviously reflecting her response to these questions, filled with sudden realization of the difficulties of what had seemed the easier choice. He pulled her in, an arm around her shoulders. "There isn't an easy way out. I'm sorry. I wish there was."

She had meant to just ask and get out. She hadn't intended on telling him everything. She hadn't planned for him to get down to the topic at hand. She knew he would know exactly what to say if he did, and she didn't want to hear it, even though she needed to. It was too much, knowing that, for all of her hope, she couldn't get out, couldn't escape. A tear leaked out of her eye and she was soon sobbing into his shoulder. He rubbed small circles on her back until she calmed down.

"I'm sorry, Mione, I wish I could help."

An idea struck her. She didn't even think, thinking would be too much for this moment. "Maybe you can."

He looked at her questioningly. "Harry, will you kiss me?"

"Mione." He looked both shocked and disapproving. "You know I can't do that. Lavender –"

"I won't tell."

"But –"

"No one will ever know, Harry. Please. I need this. I have to know."

His shoulders sagged in submission. He leaned forward and their lips met. She closed her eyes. This was just like with Lav. His lips were soft and sweet. She deepened the kiss a bit. He started to pull back, but carried on.

Maybe I could do this. Her hand went to his ear, no hair to play with. No matter. The hand slid down the side of his face, rough with the stubble of a seventeen-year-old boy who hadn't shaved since morning. Panicking, the other hand smacked against his shoulder and chest in search of something soft. Something it didn't find. She broke the kiss.

"You're right. Harry, you're always right." With that, she left him, sitting on the bed, and walked to the door. "Thank you." She blew him a kiss and walked out.


End file.
